Page 34 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
Kit tore the shirt at the place where the knife had slashed it, then pushed up the sleeve to get a clear view of the injury. It was a clean slash, about two inches long, not particularly deep. He had gotten worse slicing hard bread. A bit of pressure and a few days of bandaging and it would be good as new.
Kit found that he still wanted to hunt down whoever had done this and tear them apart, slowly and with great relish.
Percy glanced down at the wound Kit had exposed and visibly shuddered, then went even paler than usual. “I dare say it wouldn’t have bled half so much if I had bandaged it right away, but I rather desperately needed not to look at the thing.”
“So, you came here,” Kit said, wetting a rag with water from the kettle.
“I thought I’d spare my valet the trouble. I’ve already been quite a trial to him today, you see. And also, I was a bit unsteady on my feet and doubted I could walk that far. One doesn’t want to bleed all over a hackney.”
“We’ve bloodied one another’s noses,” Kit pointed out. He dabbed at the wound, and Percy’s only reaction was a slight hiss. “You’ve split your knuckles, I’ve bit my tongue. I never saw you go faint at the sight of blood any of those times.”
“Yes, well, I was having fun, wasn’t I? I assure you I was not having fun at the moment this occurred.”
“Footpads?”
Percy pressed his lips together. “No. And I’m not going to talk about it, so let’s not be tiresome. Will I be fit for our trip to Hampstead tomorrow?”
“As fit as a fiddle,” Kit promised.
Kit took the sleeve he had torn off Percy’s shirt and folded it into a bandage, then wrapped it around the wound. When he finished tucking in the loose end of the cloth, he saw that Percy was looking intently at him. Kit felt his breath catch. There wasn’t any mistaking the nature of that look, and even if there had been, it would have vanished when Percy’s tongue darted to wet his bottom lip. Christ. Kit’s gaze skittered away, then flicked back over the swell of Percy’s exposed arm, the sharp line of his jaw, the damp plumpness of his lips.
They had been looking at one another for weeks—Percy shamelessly, and Kit at first reluctantly but now hungrily, avidly, as if there were no sight in the world quite as worth looking at as Percy. Kit kept telling himself there was no harm in looking, but maybe there was no harm in more than looking.
He took his finger from where it rested on the bandage and trailed it up to the bare skin of Percy’s shoulder. A cluster of freckles rested at the top of his arm, half concealed by the remnants of his shirt, and Kit slid a finger underneath the ragged edge of fabric. It was just a fingertip, just a shoulder, just a frankly tender caress to the flesh of the man whose father had all but murdered his family. God, in the half-light, Percy even looked like his father, and why in hell didn’t that make Kit want to shove him far away?
He moved his hand up the long line of Percy’s throat, feeling his pulse flutter beneath his fingertips, only stopping when he had the other man’s jaw in his hand, his thumb resting at the corner of Percy’s mouth. Percy opened his mouth slightly, and Kit could feel the promise of wet warmth inside. Kit sucked in a breath.
It would have been simpler if they could just fuck. With a little luck, maybe he could take this man to bed and then not think about it the rest of the time. They could plan their robbery, snipe at one another, and carry on pretty much as usual. But he didn’t want to keep it separate: the man he wanted to take to bed was the man who fought like it was a dance only he knew the steps to, who was brazen enough to hire notorious criminals for insane jobs, and who, apparently, swooned at the sight of blood.
He brushed his thumb against Percy’s cheek, feeling the gentle rasp of stubble so pale that it was invisible. Percy had goneperfectly still, and Kit knew he was waiting for Kit’s next move. It was time for Kit to either lean close or step away. He had to choose. Instead, he looked some more. He thought he might never get tired of looking at this man. “Christ,” Kit breathed. “You’re beautiful.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it was true.
Percy brought a hand to rest at Kit’s hip, tugging slightly, only the lightest pressure, more of a suggestion, really.
Kit stepped back. He felt drunk on the nearness of this man, unable to think straight. And he didn’t want to do this without really meaning it. He smiled ruefully at Percy and was relieved to see Percy returning more or less the same expression.
“Have your valet change your bandage in the morning, then again tomorrow night,” Kit said, his voice rougher than he had expected. “It’s right in the part of your arm that will split again if you move the wrong way, so keep it covered until it’s nicely scabbed over.”
“Thank you,” Percy said. “I know that I shouldn’t have imposed on you, but—”
“I’m glad you did.” And that was all wrong, too much, too earnest. “I can’t have you collapsing in a puddle of blood. Our scheme would go straight to hell if you were dead, right?”
Percy looked up at him with a faint flicker of amusement in his cool eyes, and Kit knew he hadn’t sold that last bit, not even slightly. “I’m glad I did, too.”
Chapter26
“I’m a prosperous shopkeeper and you’re a gentleman,” Kit had told Percy when informing him of their outing to Hampstead Heath.
“Of course I’m a gentleman,” Percy had said, furrowing his brow.
“Our cover story,” Kit said impatiently. “We’re escorting your cousin to the visit her aunt in the country.”
“What kind of gentleman?” Percy asked.
“The kind who can sit quietly in a carriage for an hour.”
“How very helpful.”
“I don’t know, Percy. Figure out a way for the two of us to share a carriage without it looking remarkable.”
